


Gossamer

by Hazzardous_Lemurs



Series: Weave the Crimson Web [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abusive Parents, Additional tags will be added as the story develops, Blood and Gore, Demons, Earth, Explicit Language, Fate, Fluff and Humor, Kirkwall, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Narcissism, Nordic Mythology - Freeform, Norns - Freeform, Other, Saar Qamek, Sexual Fantasy, Sisters, Suicide Attempt, Survival, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazzardous_Lemurs/pseuds/Hazzardous_Lemurs
Summary: “I can never decide,” she said plainly.“Wha?” his reverie broken by her low voice.“Coincidence or fate, I can never decide,” she said matter of factly. Alistair held her gaze, unsure if it was her words or someone else’s. “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he ventured. “Too many variables, too many chances, too many times for things to go wrong.”“So, me being here is fate,” she surmised.“Yes.”She tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed in concentration. “If it is fate, that must mean that there is a reason.”Alistair prompted her, “Aren’t you interested in how you got here? If you know how, you will know who sent you here.”A slight smile played across her eyes, and she shook her head, black and red locks jumping with the movement. “But the why is much more interesting,” she said her voice mysterious. “If I know why I am in this world, then I know my place in this world.”





	1. Chapter 1

 

Glancing at the cheap plastic clock on the wall, Tayce huffed. “He said he would be back by seven.” She growled to no one. The spindly hands of the clock had just ticked over to twenty-three minutes past ten. Picking up her phone, she tried calling again. It did not even connect. “Bloody hell,” she swore. “He said he would be back by seven.” Her stomach growled in protest against the lack of food being put in it. “Shouldn’t be too much longer,” she murmured looking at the filled bowls hungrily.    

The temptation to sneak a morsel to quiet her loud gut was almost too much to bare for the woman. Snatching her hand back from the offered feast, she breathed deeply, calming the nerves that were fraying. Suddenly her phone rang. Grasping its metallic case, she swiped her thumb over to accept the call. “Hello?”

Silence was the response. “Hello?” she tried again. The silence still continued. “Hello? Who is this?” A click informed the woman that the call had been disconnected. “What the fuck,” she moaned while rubbing her free hand over her face. Her grey eyes flitted around the grungy apartment. She had locked all the windows, and the door was double bolted. Yet panic still began to rise in her.

“He should be here,” she whispered frantically. “He said he would be here.” Dashing around the small space she made sure everything was in it’s place. Her phone rang again. Running for the device, she hit her hip on the corner of the crusty wooden table. “Oof,” she groaned. Blinking back tears from the sharp pain she swiped to accept the call. “Hello?” she asked. Again, she was met with silence. “Hello?” she tried again, trying to keep the panic from etching into her voice. Silence reigned from the other end of the call. Tentatively she tried again, “Mother?” came the raspy whisper. A harsh breath was drawn on the caller’s end, and then the call ended.

“NO!” screamed the young woman. Her knees gave way and she crumpled into a bawling mess on the stained lino floor. “Not again! She can’t have found me again.” Furiously shaking her head, she repeated the words again, over and over like a mantra. Hands banging on the floor, head shaking, she was lost. Her mother could not have found her new place again. “She will never leave me alone,” she heaved through the constricting sobs. “Never.”

Fear griped her, constricted her chest, like crimson bonds pulling her until she became a figment of her former self. Rationality was lost with the iron like grip the fear held her in, and her movements became robotic. Escape the fear, she ran through her mind. Escape. Escape. Escape. Whispered on the air in the dank rooms.

Stilling, she raised her head up, face fanned with strawberry blonde locks. “Escape,” she whispered. Grey eyes, round and red rimmed, focused on the medicine cabinet in the small bathroom. Dragging her heavy limbs up, she clambered over to the room, and stood in front of the decaying bathroom mirror. Robotically she reached her reddened hand to open the cabinet. Grey eyes holding their unnatural gaze on their mirror image. “Escape,” held on her chapped lips. Finding its quarry, her hand returned with a bottle full of Valium. Turning it over, and over in her hands she gave herself over to the irrational escape.

Opening the small bottle, Tayce poured the contents onto her palm. “Enough to escape,” she muttered. In one foul movement, she brought the pills to her mouth, and swallowed. A small smile teased the edges of her mouth, as she lowered herself to the bathroom floor. Escape was only moments away.

A click and bang, would have alerted the woman that someone had entered her apartment. But the lure of peace had already taken her. Gentle, warm and quiet. It’s comfort too much for the harried girl to withstand.

“Tayce!” a voice yelled at her. “Tacye! What have you done?”

The empty bottle rolled from her hand, making a tinking sound on the tiles. “Oh, bloody hell. You stupid bitch,” realisation dawned on the voice. “It was just a joke; can’t you take a simple joke?”

Tayce continued to smile as her eye lids became heavy. Just a joke, whispered around the room. Behind her she could hear her boyfriend frantically call the ambulance. Its all just one big joke, she thought. Crimson bonds unravelling as the drug did its work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Lovelies, 
> 
> This story is part of three, each following one of the sisters from the prologue. 
> 
> The stories are dependent and independent of each other. I am playing around with time and fate, so what happens in one story may be undone in another. There are common themes and signposts in each story, but each sister will have different skills, hurdles, and powers that will be needed. 
> 
> Hopefully it works. 
> 
> Posting will be one story, once a week. So if you are following one story, new chapters will be every three weeks.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, describe the bonds for me.” It had been weeks, since Tayce had been pushed to find a permanent escape from the ever-present threat of her mother. Waking up to the realisation that her boyfriend, _Ahem?_  ex-boyfriend, was playing on her insecurities for his own amusement sent her into a spiral of self-loathing and fury. Most days the young woman could barely function without falling into a sobbing mess on her apartment’s cheap lino floor. 

The darkness of that fateful day floated on the dusty air within the home, reminding Tayce of her failure. “Couldn’t even get that right,” she would mutter under her breath, feeling the pain of life acutely as she picked up the fractured pieces of her life. The apartment was half empty, the Ex taking his belongings whilst the woman was recovering in hospital. Leaving her alone to return to their once shared home. “Psycho bitch!” he would yell at her window, as he and his mates did laps of the block watching for some sign that Tayce heard them. A slight rustle of the cheap blinds was met with howls of laughter as they drove away. The woman crumpling up in a heap next to the dirty window, fury and shame clouding her thoughts.

Over and over, the word failure ran through her mind. Screaming futilely at the greasy kitchen, she denied the words. “No! I am not, I am not a failure. Not a failure.” The words became images. Everything she had failed in her life. The maths test in year five. Holding a cup of tea for her mother. The first job she ever had. Ending her life. Over and over they played their terrible dance in her mind. “I am a failure,” whispered past her swollen lips. “A failure, a failure.” One by one the images were replaced with swirling, searching crimson bonds. Wrapping around her foot, her hand, her leg. She laughed at their absurdity.

“Kinky fuckers would pay good money for this shit,” she laughed until the bonds began to restrict her chest. Coughing at the constriction, her mind cracked and she laughed and laughed until the bonds had wound their way around her entirely. Restricting her from any rational thought. Paralysed with fear and loathing she waited. And waited.  The only thing changing in her catatonic state was the warm rays of the sun, that touched her pale skin as dawn broke.

It was after one such incident that her sisters found her, cleaned her up, and in the morning, dragged her to the shrink. That was several weeks ago, and Tayce had been seeing him twice a week since then. He was the archetype of psychiatrists. Mid-sixties, sporting beige slacks and a knitted vest, he sat neatly on an aging leather armchair. The arms frayed where he would rub his fingers over them as he pondered the nuances of Tayce’s story. He was stocky, with unkept salt and pepper hair, that the woman thought was a nice contradiction to his well-manicured beard.

“And so, these bonds? When do you see them?” the psychiatrist inquired. Tearing her eyes away from the patterns in his vest, Tayce frowned at the question. “Pardon?” Doctor Heston narrowed his eyes and repeated his question carefully. “When do you see the bonds?”

Closing her eyes at the question, the woman sighed heavily. “I see them when I can’t breathe.” The man showed no move to ask another question. The woman knew he was waiting for her to keep going. “When I feel like I am backed into a corner.” She raised her eyes to meet his, and again she was not going to be relieved of this train of thought. Fear started to rise in her, but this time it was over taken by another feeling. Her face started to heat, and her voice was becoming louder, harsher. “When I can’t find a way around it, when I can make a decision.” Her body movements were beginning to match the tension in her voice and mind. “Oh fuck it, when I have lost control,” she all but yelled at the man. “I can’t move, I can’t do anything for myself, I can’t… I just… can’t,” she let out with a whoosh of relief. Body sagging, and eyes downcast, the enormity of her admission weighing her down.

A small smile played across the man’s stoic face. “And why don’t you feel like you have control?” Startled eyes raced up to comprehend what the doctor was saying. “The bonds, they… they. I can’t move when they are there,” her voice barely audible. “Are they real, or are they in your mind?” inquired Doctor Heston. Confusion twisted her face. “Can you feel them?” Tilting her head to one side, she hesitantly answered, “No?...”

“Good. Then they are in your mind, they are of your own making.” Her eyebrows scrunched up over her grey eyes ready to disagree with the man. “And that means we can unmake them.” He said matter of factly. Reaching behind him, to the tall antique cabinet, he pulled out his prescription pad. “We have a long way to go, before you are free of your bonds, Tayce. They have been crafted over your life time, and they will probably take a life time to unmake.” Scribbling on his pad with a cheap biro, he handed the woman the script. “I am prescribing you some medication to help you with your anxiety and depression.” Standing up he motioned towards the door. “We have a long way to go, young lady. But you are strong. You can do this.” Tayce nodded and mumbled a good bye.

Turning the paper over in her hand, she wondered about her session. All in my head? That means it’s not real, she mused. That means I can fight this.

Smiling, she felt the weight of the world lift of her shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

_Cousland’s lifeless body lay on the grey cold slab. Her injuries hidden behind a set of new armour. Once tangled hair, brushed so it shone in jet black waves framing her unmoving face. Her companions held back from her, as important dignitaries took prime position within the open-air chapel. Standing behind the stone slab, Anora stood, commanding the attention of all who gathered._

“What!” a voice screamed over Anora’s snooty eulogy. “She can’t be dead! No, no, no.”

Elde jumped up and down on her seat. “You didn’t warn me about this!” she levelled at her oldest sister. “You didn’t tell me she would die!”

Tayce smirked, “And, that is what you get for doing a pen drop at the most crucial moments of the game.”

“What! No! we have to go back,” Elde opened up the file panel. “Which one is it? Which save do we need?” her frantic pleas filled Tayce’s lounge room.

Laughing now at her sister’s sudden rabid interest in Dragon Age, the woman stood up and walked to her newly renovated kitchen. Grabbing a can of coke, she cracked it and downed half of it. She couldn’t believe that her sisters were with her, in her new home, playing Dragon Age together. And by together, she meant Elde and herself playing the game, while Mirrin worked on putting together the seating plan for her up coming wedding.

Filling the half empty can of coke with vodka, she moseyed over to the dining table, where Mirrin was painstakingly setting out the table arrangements. “Oh Miri, why do you care so much about this?” she lamented, poking at the carefully named post it notes the younger woman had stuck on a mockup of the table arrangements.

Looking up at her big sister, Mirrin pursed her lips and sighed, batting Tayce’s wandering hand away from her work.

“You know,” continued Tayce. “You look like Mother when you do that.”

The youngest sister looked at her with a deathly glare.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Miri,” placated the once strawberry blonde. Pushing back her now black and red ombre locks, she gave her younger sister a quick kiss on the top of her head.

Mirrin looked up at her sister disdainfully. “You know what this means to Mother,” she moaned. “This wedding, it has to be perfect,” settling her gaze on the arrangement before her.

Raising one eyebrow, Tayce considered her sister’s words. “But what does it mean to you?”

Turning around on the dining room chair to face the taller woman, Mirrin’s face was contorted in a visage of shock and panic. “Mean to me?” she repeated back to Tayce. “What do you mean?” Crumpling her perfect eyebrows to mirror the confusion in her mind, Mirrin shook her head slowly. “This is my wedding, Tacye. It means everything to me to make it perfect for Mother and John.”

The oldest sister shook her head. Nothing was going to get through to Mirrin.

Taking her vodka and coke can back to the lounge, she plonked back down on the plush corner lounge. “Found the save point Elde?”

“No!” wailed Elde. “It’s gone. I can’t believe it.”

Chuckling at her sister’s pain, Tacye decided to placate the frustration she felt. “It’s ok Elde, we all do it at some point in the game. I remember I forgot to save before I took on the Brood Mother.” Both women shuddered at the mention of the Brood Mother. _So many titties..._ “I had to go back and do the whole of the Deep Roads again when she handed my ass to me.”

“Ugh! I hated the Deep Roads,” commiserated Elde.

“Don’t we all,” agreed Tayce.

There was nothing to be done for Elde, the save point was not far enough back in the timeline to affect the ending. Throwing her hands in the air, the middle sister started a new game. “This time, I’m gonna get me some cute elf ass.”

“And what an ass he is,” the women laughed together.

Tayce snuggled back into the cushions, and watched as Elde took her time creating her character. Allowing the alcohol to calm the nerves and warm her limbs, she basked in the familiarity and warmth of the home she had created. Looking over at her sisters, her lips curled up into a contented smile. This comraderies between them had been slowly built up over time. _Since I almost gave it all up_ , she thought.

Allowing her mind to go back to the events after her suicide attempt, she remembered the overwhelming darkness that had settled in her, and how she could barely function. It was a few weeks after her attempt that her sisters finally came to her. Not that she begrudged them for it. They were still minors, and firmly under the thumb of their mother. Though, the sneaky girls had led their mother to believe they were going to some fancy pants orchestral night in order to see Tayce.

The woman chuckled to herself. The damn cows ended up with a ‘missing persons’ call out on them. Their mother panicking at the several days the girls were attending to Tayce. _Shit, they must have copped it when they got back home_. Either way, it was just enough time for them to clean her up, and get her on the right track. And for that she would forever be grateful.

“If only I could help them,” she whispered to her drink.

 

It was well past the witching hour when Tayce shut the door to the departing footsteps of her sisters. A good night, she smiled to herself as she wandered the darkness to her bedroom. Pulling her grungy, black, band t-shirt over her head, she dumped it unceremoniously on the floor. Next came her coveted Doc Martens. The first purchase she ever made on her own. The first thing she owned that defined her as a person. That was ten years ago now, and they were still looking good. Tossing them, and her socks, to her ‘floordrobe’, she shimmied out of her jeans. At thirty, she was rocking the grungy look, better than most of the younger kids. A few older women had questioned her taste in clothing, especially as she got older, but Tayce did not care. “Meddling bitches,” she would mutter under her breath. Tayce was done with doing what others expected of her.

Whipping the last pieces of her clothing off her body, she padded over the plush carpet to her ensuite. Standing in front of the bathroom cabinet mirror, she reached out and opened the door. A steady hand searched the shelves, and finding it’s prize, pulled back. In her hand was her medication. She had been on the pills since Doctor Heston had prescribed them, ten years ago now.

Pulling the foil packaging out of the anxiety drugs, her fingers ran over the empty blisters. “Shit,” she moaned. Trying the depression drugs next, the same thing happened. “Double shit.” Tossing the empty packets into the bathroom bin, she made a mental note to pick more up in the morning.

 

But being a primary school teacher meant that Tayce’s time was precious. It wasn’t until the next night that she ran into the pharmacy with one minute until closing. “Wait! Wait! Here, I have it here,” she pleaded with the pharmacists while scrounging around in her handbag. Drawing out pieces of paper, her grey eyes flitted over them, searching for familiar words or symbols.

“I am sorry, we have to close,” the pharmacist kindly directed. “I cannot serve you anyway, as it is after hours now.”

“What!” the woman’s face tearing away from her bag to stare agape at the man. “But, I got here before closing time,” she rationed.

“I know, but we don’t take anymore prescriptions after seven forty-five. You will need to wait until tomorrow to get it filled now.” With a gentle nod, he motioned for Tayce to leave the store. 

Walking out, back to her car, her hands shook with the beginning of withdrawals. “Crap, fucken, shitballs,” she swore at the world as she tried to calm her jittery hands. The short drive home seemed to take ages for the woman. Each light lasting longer each time, each street expanding to ridiculous lengths. Tayce’s nerves were fraying quickly as the fear of her own mind attacking her played around in her brain.

Pulling up her drive, her phone began to flash. Glancing down at it, she noticed it was from a private number. Ignoring it in favour of leaving the car and going inside, she missed several calls. Dumping her work bag on her kitchen bench, noticed again the flashing lights of her phone. Without checking she answered.

“Hello?”

“Anastacia.”

The rest of the call was a blur. Tayce vaguely remembered her mother inquiring about her attire for the wedding, whether she had found a suitable plus one, and if she had finally got rid of her ridiculous clown hair.

A click reverberated through the speakers of the phone, informing Tayce that her mother had finally finished her interrogation.   

Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. Struggling in vain to remember the calming exercises her psych’ had taught her, the voice of her mother played over and over in her mind. The torture too much to bare, weakened from the withdrawals, and ill prepared to take on her mother, she fell.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Into darkness.

And in the cold, blackness, Tayce felt the familiar bond creep over her legs and arms. Binding, tightening. Holding her still.

A small voice reminds her that they are a figment of her imagination, she rallied her mind slightly to fight the fear that was binding her.

“They are not real,” she whispered. “They are not real.”

Reaching a free hand over to her other hand she touched the crimson binds. Gasping, she pulled her hand back, startled at their touch.

“He said they are not real. They feel real? Why can I feel them?” her voice tentatively asked the blackness. Trying again, she ran her hand over the solid rope.

Frantically, she began to pull at them. Dragging the silky threads away, only to have them tighten when she let them go to pull another. Over and over the bonds and her played the game, and each time Tayce became covered with more of the red ropes.

Holding her, they covered her legs, arms and chest. Pulling, pushing. Dragging and lifting. The bonds kept her still.

Eyes wide and frightened, that was all she could now move. At the mercy of her fears, her breath became shallow. Each draw for air becoming shorter than the last. Until she breathed no more.

Her mind became clear, as the blackness enveloped her mind as well as her body. Fear dissipated, as her body became limp and pliant from the lack of air. Her last moment on Earth captured in a single word.

"Real."

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tayce lands in a strangely familiar place, only to be faced with a situation she never thought possible.

Yellow-green mist flowed down from the wooden barrels, curling its way around the building debris laying on the cobbled street. Heavier than the dank midday air, the mist lay like a blanket, covering the whole enclave. Sinking through the cracks of windows and doors, tendrils of the evil substance left no place untouched in the alleyway.

Sliding away from their bounty, the silken threads dissipated into the haze, leaving Tayce gasping for air. Nostrils flaring, the woman choked on her first draw of breath.

“Ew, what the fuck is that?” she coughed.

Sensing the inherent danger of her surroundings, the tall woman scrambled to gain a footing on her landing point. Realising her predicament, she sought higher ground. Teetering on decaying planks, she tried to raise herself up over the mist, gulping the clear air as she jumped up and down.

The wooden planks clattering against each other in protest, only allowed the woman a few jumps before giving way in a flurry of splinters and dust.

 _Gotta get up out of this shit_ , her mind yelled at her.

Hauling her sore ass up, she stood as tall as she could, searching for any place away from the slow and agonising death the mist was promising her. Seeing a stair case leading up, out of the gas, she made her way towards it, trying not to breathe in the gas.

Her poor head, faint from the abuse of the bonds and now the poisonous air, began to swim. Her vision prickled at the edges, white dots dancing around, marring her vision. Despite the effects of the gas, she managed to reach the stairs. Lifting her heavy legs up, she ascended the steps, collapsing when she was finally surrounded by clear air. Filling her lungs with the sweet air, her vision cleared, and her mind settled into her version of calm.

Finally taking in her surroundings, she couldn’t help notice how familiar it all seemed.

“Bloody well looks like Kirkwall,” she muttered.

Leaning back against the dusty rock, she allowed her body a moment of relaxation. Her brain, still not clear enough to reconcile her recent experiences, allowed her a moment of quiet reflection. Gently banging her head against her backrest, her gaze wandered over the stone and spikes of the alleyway. The only thing marring the coordinated hole, was the simplified forms of dragons, splashed onto the rubble.

“Oh Fuck.” Eyes wide with confusion, her body already shaking from fear, she swore again. “How the fuck? What, no. This isn’t real. I am dreaming this. Like the bonds,” she reasoned with her bruised brain. “Kirkwall, Kirkwall, Kirkwall,” she muttered under her breath, scanning the sights for a logical explanation. But the dragons mocked her attempts at logic as they blazed across the beige rock walls.

Sounds of metal scraping across the ground alerted Tayce to the fact she was not alone. A few small child sized heads poked up through the mist, coughing and spluttering, their drunken path stopped by a large woman, holding an equally large kitchen knife. Watching the scene playout, the woman held back a scream as the blade swung and slice off a part of a small head. Gurgling of the blood pouring out onto the ground, and the shrieks of pain from the child echoed off the high alleyway walls.

“Saar Qamek” she hissed. Scrambling to hide from the horror of the mist, she searched desperately for a place. One with a view, if possible. Eyeing the closest rickety scaffold, she made a snap decision and climbed.

It wasn’t until dusk that Tayce heard voices that may have been familiar. Between the screams of children, the menacing shouts of adults, and the sounds of… she shivered. She did not want to identify what those sounds were. Her ears were desperate for some familiarity. Normality. Anything but what she thought she was hearing. Hazarding a look over the edge, she saw movement disturb the settled mist. Yellow- green swirled and twirled, as the bodies within it stirred it up. Squinting, Tayce saw the flash of the dying sun, glinting off metallic implements dancing through the fog.

With a thud and clack, one of the barrels was cut off from spewing its stream of death. More bodies swarmed out into the alley. Though this time the woman could see what was happening as the gas was beginning to dissipate. A zing and thwack near her head warned the eavesdropper that she was not yet out of danger. Regardless, she tentatively reached down and grasped the embedded arrow. Tugging at it, she noticed the scaffold gently rock. Disregarding the warning, she tried again to dislodge the shaft. Jimmying back and forth, her concentration on her task made her blind to the movement it was creating. Others were not so blind.

“Up there!” a familiar low growl called out to the others. Squeaking, Tayce pulled her head up sharply from her task. Not sure who the good guys or bad guys were, she rolled back out of sight from the angry people below her. In doing so the scaffold started to rock precariously on its decaying foundations.

“Bring it down!” yelled another voice, and Tayce’s hiding spot swayed dangerously.

“What? No!” she screamed, grabbing the edges of the wooden platform. “Don’t bring it down. No, no, no.” her panicked pleas getting louder as the swing of the structure got close to the point of no return. “Stop! Please!” her cries fell on deaf ears as with one last tug, the aged foundation cracked and crumpled, giving way for the structure to tip one last time.

Grasping onto the wood, her nails bent and broke at the force. Swinging her legs around to hook over anything to stop them from swaying, she felt gravity take over. Peering over her shoulder, she watched her descent. The scaffold was tall, reaching the top of the stacked buildings. This meant that when it fell, she would be quite a distance from where she began, if not squished, or splattered against the far wall. Throwing a hand out in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable, she felt gravity slow, but not enough to stop her from being thrown down into the bird like statues, standing vigil in the centre of the alley. Her bruised and battered brain having enough of the abuse, slipped into the darkness, much to Tayce’s fleeting gratitude.


	5. Anchor

“Hey! This one is still alive.”

Tayce groaned as a booted foot poked her in the ribs. Another voice scoffed, “She doesn’t have any weapons, leave her for the slavers.”

The first voice cut in again, “Hmm, she would make a nice play thing.”

An oily laugh came from the second voice, “True, but the slavers would pay more, and then you get yourself a nice plaything at the Rose.”

A deep sigh in feigned regret, “’Tis true.” A grimy hand patted the woman on the face. “Oh, my dear beauty, maybe in another life time.” The thud and grind of cheap boots on the sandy ground echoed around the battle zone. Laughter mirroring the slimy intent of the owner peaked before fading out as the men walked out of the alley.

“Where are the fucking police?” Tayce whispered harshly to no one. Tenderly, she gathered her limbs and torso into an upright position. Her grey eyes scanned the shanty town in disbelief. It was a war zone. Blood and guts had seeped into the dirt. Splatters of green and yellow poked out of the waves of darkening red, describing in detail the various ways the occupants of the alley had perished. Assorted hunks of meat hung around the scaffolds and spikes of the wall. Retching, the woman could not find a place untouched from the effects of the gas, and the subsequent battle.

Shifting around on her seat, her backside and legs stung from the splinters embedded into her freckled white skin. Remembering the fall, she searched for the scaffold. Its remains lay where it fell, disregarded and insignificant against the backdrop of death in the slum. Grunting, as she found her feet, Tayce shook her head. _What the everlasting fuck is going on? This cannot be Kirkwall. That’s impossible._ Her mind running through logical questions and answers.

“Is it?”

Aware of a new voice, the woman looked up. Two ravens perched on the broken beams. Blinking, she tilted her head to one side and answered. “Is it what?”

The ravens cawed, clacking their sharp beaks.

“Impossible.”

Opening her mouth to answer, she was interrupted by new voices. Sharply turning her head towards the sound, “Shit,” she declared. “What next?”  A flurry of wings and a cackle of caws, the ravens departed leaving Tayce alone in the alley.

Picking her way around the remains of unidentifiable people, she hid below the steps in the shade, hoping she would not be seen.

“Why are we back here?” a ridiculously deep voice moaned in protest.

“Aveline wanted a report on the damage, so she could prepare her men,” an American sounding male voice explained.

“You know why, sugar, because we do this shit every day,” said a sultry female voice. 

“Yea, but this is beyond what we do,” the American man said again.

The trio had stopped on the landing of the steps, just above Tayce’s head. Holding her breath, eyes round at the recognition of the voices, she fought with herself taking a look at the people whose voices she knew oh so well. As her internal battle raged, the trio walked down the steps and into the square of the shanty, giving her the perfect view.

The American man, she knew was Varric. A dwarf. Stocky and sturdy, Varric was the keystone of the Kirkwall companions. Always ready for an uplifting story or a joke to lighten the mood, the dwarf was silent. The only noise emanating from him was the crunch of dirt under his boots and the click of Bianca being armed. Two bolts rang out in the fetid air, embedding themselves in a wall. A clink of chains, followed by the unravelling of the spool preceded the watery thump of a body hitting the ground.

A flash of blades, on the very shapely back of a woman, alerted Tayce to the presence of Isabella. Another extroverted companion, Isabella specialised in innuendo and lewd suggestions. Always quick to recognise anything that she found visually appealing, the woman was also silent. Her dark eyes running over the tiny carcasses of infants, held up on meat hooks. Not one for maternal aching, the woman still felt the loss keenly.

The final voice was undeniably Fenris’s. She did not need to see him to know that. However, the view she was now presented with was one of the small highlights of the day. Muffling a small snort, she pushed herself back into the shadows, hoping her noise would not attract attention.

Thankfully, it did not.

Fenris was struggling with his feet. The ground was soaked in blood and guts, gross if you wore heavy boots, but not too appalling. Fenris, being an elf, only wore foot wraps. Picking one foot up off the ground, he examined it, mouth grimacing in disgust. Bits of offal dropped off the sole. Shuddering the elf replaced his foot on the ground, making a squelching noise as he shifted his weight.

“O..K…” Varric’s voice stilted in the morning glow. The heat of the almost midday sun was penetrating the meat, releasing the juices and fats into the air. Several flies were quickly becoming thousands, thankful of the free and bountiful meal. Batting the annoying beasties away, the dwarf turned back to the stair case. Through gritted teeth Varric concluded, “So we can safely say that no one will be prepared for this.” His movements were stiff and the strain of the task was evident on his robust face. Silently, the trio left the alleyway. Without thinking, Tayce found herself following.  

She must have been a sight for the members of Kirkwall’s lower-class citizens. An overly tall woman, dressed in a tentacle skirt and black top. Black lace up boots, and black opaque leggings. All topped off with her long, black to red Ombre locks. Take that image and now dose it with a bucket load of blood and gore, bruises and abrasions, and a look of desperation and insanity. But no one batted an eye at the woman. _Probably seen it all before_ , she rolled her eyes.

Ducking and weaving through the throngs of Lowtown inhabitants, Tayce kept the trio in sights. She knew they were dangerous, but she needed something. An anchor. Something familiar. Several times she saw them stop, look around and change course. Losing them from sight she raced to find them, only to see them at the end of a short street or aisle in the markets. Their path took them this way and that. She was sure they had retraced their passage several times.

Adrenaline was starting to wear off, her body weary from the exertion of the past 24 hours. She was keeping up with them, but now she was in a different part of the city. One she was not sure about. It wasn’t Lowtown, and certainly wasn’t Hightown. Turning the corner to catch the group, she was twirled around and thrown heavily against the stone block wall. An armoured arm pressed against her throat, and a gauntleted hand held hers in a vice like grip above her head. Emerald green eyes glared up at her.


	6. Broody

Tayce had always dreamed of this moment. She had read numerous fan fictions based on the broody elf, and his mesmerizing green eyes. Fantasising over the white-haired warrior, she imagined what it would look like when he flared his lyrium brands. That voice, penetrating deep into her very being, bringing out her desire like a slowly unravelling flower. His long, powerful fingers delving deep into her womanhood as she panted and moaned her appreciation.

This moment was not like that.

Not at all.

The only blossoming here was the sharp sting of her head hitting the solid stone wall, and the brutal press of spikes into the soft, yielding flesh of her neck.

“Ow!” she yelped.

“What did you do that for, you numbskull?” His eyes narrowing at her insult. Silky smooth came the reply, “You were following us. Why?” The demand magnified by the slight increase in weight across her throat.

“Now, now Broody,” Varric placated. “I am sure the young lady has a reasonable explanation for her exceptional tracking skills, and why they were focus on us.” His crossbow was cocked, and pointed straight at Tayce.

The woman was finding her mouth go dry at the very real, and very dangerous situation she did not dream about. Recognising the threat posed to her, had a two-fold effect.

Firstly, the fear.

Her stomach constricted, causing the bile to find its way both up and down. Nausea washed over her, wetting her mouth and stabbing pains rumbled around her belly. Her hands started to shake, even within their firm restraints. The vibrations echoed down her arms, causing her shoulders to shiver. While her body was reacting, her brain was hitched on a never-ending loop. _I can’t I can’t I can’t_.

The second effect was the fury at being vulnerable, and overpowered. It burned low in her legs. Never really catching alight, the anger smouldered behind her façade of fear.

“I can’t, I can’t I can’t” her mantra becoming mumbled words.

“You can’t what? Tell? Say? What? Who sent you?” growled Fenris.

“No, no, no, not sent, not sent. No,” her head shaking furiously at the questions. The elf sighed, and dropped her. Not that she fell far, being taller than the man. He took a few steps back and threw his hands up in displeasure.

“She is an idiot,” he concluded.

“That may be so Sugar, but she managed to keep up with us. I for one,” The pirate made a point of saying I. “Would like to know how she managed it."

The elf made a gesture for Isabella to have a go at interrogating the woman. None too worried about her attacking, as Varric’s deadly crossbow was directed at the woman. The Rivani woman kicked off the adjacent wall she had been leaning on, and stood in front of Tayce. Even with her heeled boots, the ombre haired woman still overlooked her. Smirking her nicest smirk, Isabella reached out and touched the woman’s matted hair. “How do you get it like that lovely?”

Tayce, doing a 180 with the line of questioning, frowned. Her anger taking control for the moment. “The colour, or the fact that it is fucking well covered in blood and guts?” Her voice was agitated, and getting loud.

The pirate let out a chuckle, and shook her head. Her own lovely black bangs swaying with the movement. “What is your name sweet stuff?”

Tayce was shaking from head to toe. Her head ached, and her belly was doing loops. If she didn’t play this right she would be shishkebabbed on the other woman’s wicked blades. Her name would not cause harm, she figured. “Tayce,” her stutter becoming pronounced on the t.

“Well there we go,” crooned the pirate. “So Tayce, why were you following us?” her voice was smooth and calm.

“I, I, I, was lost, and figured if I followed someone who looked like they owned the place, they would lead me out of here.” It was a risky venture, but not too far from the truth.

An exchange of looks between the trio, did not indicate anything positive. Her mind began to dissolve, her previous experiences becoming too much to her to maintain. “After the alley, the gas, the kids, the knives. There was so much blood, and everything. You came to see. I saw you. And decided to follow.” Her voice stalled and hitched through the sobs that were coming hard and fast now. There was no lie in her tears, just truth. All three softened, knowing what had been.

“Well, shit.” Varric whispered. “She lived through all that and is marginally coherent?”

“Hmm, no wonder she latched on to us,” inferred Fenris. “Trauma like that would make your mind do some strange things.”

Sighing, Varric dropped Bianca, and returned her to the holder on his back. Motioning at Isabella and Fenris, a gentle jingle of coins being thrown through the air answered his order. Pouring the contents of the proffered purses into the one large, and well-made coin purse he carried, the dwarf held it up to Tayce. “Here, take it. There is not much we can do to help. But this should see you through a few months if you’re careful.”     

The off worlder rolled the bag over and over in her hands. “I would be hiding it somewhere safe,” the short man chuckled nodding to Tayce’s amble bosom. “No one will try to find it there." The dwarf smirked and winked at her. "Well, not with out looking like a deviant.”

Tucking it into her bra, the woman thanked the trio as they walked back out to the main thorough fare. A wry smile formed on her mouth, as she watched the departing frames of the three infamous companions. She could not help but hear Isabella’s protests, questioning how Tayce managed to keep up with them. The other two pacifying the pirates concerns with the obvious simple minded pleb excuse.

Tayce huffed at their assumptions, but now it seemed like she was on her own.

In Kirkwall.

During Hawke’s reign of sarcastic terror.

_Oh fuck_ , was all she could think of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello My Lovelies,   
> Here is the second offering today. Thanks for reading. :D


	7. Child

Her stomach was still constricted. Nausea rolled over her, threatening to send her to her knees in penitence. The stench of decaying flesh lingered around her, soaked into her clothes. She could not escape the olfactory reminder of her warm welcome to Kirkwall. Tayce needed to get clean. But how? She looked and smelled like a corpse. No one would let them in their establishment.

Except maybe one. The Hanged Man.

Shrugging, she figured it could not hurt to try. Even if it was just for a few nights. Enough to figure out what the hell was going on. _And get a bath_ , she huffed. Taking a chance on everything, she took a deep breath, and headed out of the relative safety of the alley towards the infamous pub.

It wasn’t long before Tayce had navigated her way through Lowtown, and was heading down a short alley near the tavern. Surrounded by tall, sandstone buildings, she could not help but compare real life Kirkwall to the pixelated version on her home PC. Obviously, the map was all wrong in the PC version.

“Always thought it was too damn small for a city state,” she muttered as she took another flight of stairs towards the Lowtown markets. The other difference was the lack of gardens. This always bugged Tayce. Knowing mediaeval earth societies, families would supplement their income with their own, home grown food. Kirkwall in the PC was a vestige of concrete and stone. Whereas, in real life, the woman looked up at the stone wall, dotted with potted window gardens, people used whatever available space to grow something.

The common areas were littered with vegetation as well. Tall trees grew in the stone expanse of the city. Their canopies providing shelter from the sweltering sun, and fruit for the scurvy ridden city. She was looking up into the sprawling canopy of a fig tree when she heard another familiar voice. “You there! Come here!” Tayce fervently looked around to see where the voice was coming from. A clatter of armour alerted her to the presence of templars, and suddenly she was face to face with an armoured chest. A red sword, surrounded by a blazing sun, stood in front of her. Without thinking she reached out and flicked the metal with her fingers. “I prefer the other one,” she huffed.

Whiskey coloured eyes looked down at her from their lofty height. “Mirrin?”

Whipping her head up to see who said that, the man’s eyes returned to their quarry. “Stop, Mage!” Pushing her aside, the soldier barrelled towards the supposed mage. Reaching behind a tower of empty barrels, the man pulled out a small bundle of rags and bones. The bundle squeaked and started crying. “A child?” Tayce put her hands on her hips and squared off with the man. “A big man like you, chasing down a child?”

The soldier stood up to his full height and considered the woman addressing him. “Enough! Or you will be arrested for aiding and abetting apostates,” he growled.

Tayce’s mouth pulled up into a nasty smile. “Aiding and abetting? All I did was point out the obvious differences in size.”

All but throwing the child into the arms of another solider, the first one stalked over to the interfering woman. “Have a bit of concern for yourself my lady, these are dangerous blood mages, and…” She lost it at this point. Never one to hold back her amusement, she laughed from her belly. Her voice echoing around the alley. From what she could remember about templars, is they can cancel out magic if their will is greater than that of the mage’s. Looking down at the knight-captain, she could feel his will against hers, and it was impressive. Her cackle drifted off as her face became still with rage.

“You cannot tell me that the impressive knight-captain is scared of a child of eight?” her voice hammering home the sarcasm of the question.

The knight-captain’s face flared with barely concealed fury. How dare this woman question him, how dare she stop him from his task. “You know nothing of this mage,” he hissed in her face, his hot breath skimming her cheeks.

“And yet, I know a bully when I see one, Cullen. Stanton. Rutherford.” She retorted. His eyes expanded with disbelief, his hand hovering over the pommel of his sword.

“How do you know my name?”

She didn’t bother to answer him. The child was shaking, crying, screaming for its mother. Tayce watched as the young mage reached out to something. No not something. Someone. Eyes turning purple. Face snarling and teeth gnashing. The child was gone. Left was something much more sinister than the scary eight-year-old blood mage.

The soldier was thrown to the side, a shamble of metal and limbs, and the thing turned towards the woman. Ignoring Cullen, it was only interested in the tall woman. “Why are you here?” it hissed. “You don’t belong here. Go back. Go Back! Go back!”

“I can’t!” screamed Tayce, “I don’t know how I got here to begin with!” The thing recoiled as if hit. “No. You can’t stay, can’t stay, can’t stay.” Its head shaking from side to side. Suddenly it stopped. “You must die!” Launching itself towards Tayce, the thing razed the air with its talons, blood and spit dripping from its maw. Powerful back legs pushed it into the air high and long, straight for her throat.

A flash of metal swiped across the dank air. A spray of red and black painted the walls of the alley. A corpse lay in two pieces on the cobbled stone.

“Never engage with demons!” a growl emanated from the Knight-Captain. “By the Maker woman, do you have a death wish?” his gauntleted hand landed roughly on her shoulder, pulling her towards him.

Flinging her arm into his, causing his grip to falter, she stepped back, “You killed him!” she screamed. “You killed him!”

“I killed a demon,” he yelled back. “The mage was weak.”

“Because they were scared!” she screamed back. “If you go about expecting to find demons, then demons you will find. They were a child. A child!”

“They are not human!” he screamed back at her. “They don’t deserve a chance. Child or not!”

_And there we have it_ , she thought. “You have been damaged before by mages. The child did not deserve your wrath,” Tayce whispered at the man. “This is not why you became a templar.”

His ire, now directed at the impertinent woman in front of him. Familiar, and yet not.

“Who are you?” his voice threatening, his hand slowly lifting his sword. Feet scraping over the ground into position. His hair, swayed slightly from his movements.

Tayce became aware of the world around her. The slight breeze cooling her torrid skin. The slow movement of wings above her, creating snippets of shade as they crossed over the sun. The sluggish steps from the general public, and the drone of the merchants calls. All coming to a stand-still, until she was presented with two solutions. Stay and face the Knight-Captain, or run and face Darktown. She made her decision, and then time caught up.


	8. Cretin

She was heading to Darktown. Plead her case with the local bleeding heart of a spirit mage. Anders. He was used to weird shit. Being fused with a spirit being top of said ‘weird shit’. But how would she find the clinic?

Two small shadows flitted past her and landed on a nearby crate. Black beady eyes, considered the woman.

“Go down.”

Hopping around the rim of the crate, one raven was making a spectacle of itself. The other, skulked on a barrel.

“You remember.”

Tayce looked at the birds. Back home, she loved the crows. _Smart little buggers,_ she would mutter under her breath smiling at their antics. These creatures, though, were different. Bigger and longer. Their beaks curved and sharper. Feathers black and glossy, shimmering blue in the sun. Scrunching her face up at them in confusion, she turned back towards the top of the alley, dirt crunching under her steady gait.

_I need to go down, underneath the city to find him_ , she mused internally. _And to do that I would need to go underground. Obviously_.

Remembering a passage way from Lowtown into Darktown, she made her way through the crowds. It was perplexing that no one was concerned with her appearance, if not her smell. She must reek by now. In fact, her dishevelled appearance gave her an air of respect from the inhabitants. If she was walking like that, that blood was not hers, they reasoned. And if it is not hers, they would not want to see the poor bastard whose blood it really was. Eat or be eaten. That was a code these people could live by. However long or short that life would be.

The steady stream of people entering and exiting the tunnel gave Tayce some hope that she was on the right track. Still not willing to talk to anyone else just yet, she scanned her memory for the layout of Darktown. If only real life was as simple as a computer game. The tunnels went up and down, left and right, this way and that. Before long the woman was thoroughly lost.

The last of the crowd dispersed into the nooks and crannies of the abandoned mine, leaving Tayce alone. It wasn’t long before the filth of the city rose to the surface. Crawling out of their holes, seemingly called by the presence of a lone woman, the cretins gathered. A silent competition for the helpless prize, some of the scum dropped back into the pits, while others lingered on the side. Hoping for any scraps dropped by the more dominant. Not oblivious to the danger she was now in, the woman scanned the ruins for a weapon, escape, guardsman… anything really that would assist her.

“Well, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck,” she resigned herself to her fate. “She came, she saw, she got brutally murdered.” A small chuckle resonated from close behind her. Turning sharply, a long quarterstaff was pushed into her hands, before she had a chance to see her supposed saviour.

“Well my Lady, it seems you are a little out of your depth.” He was tall, and broad, towering over Tayce.

“For fucks sake, are all the men giants here?” she snarked quietly.

His gentle laugh wrapped around her again. “Yeeees? Maybe.” Shaking her head and smiling she turned to face him.

“Oh shit,” she breathed surprised. “For once I am happy that Elde fucked up the game.”

The man drew his sword and held his shield high. “As much as I would like to know what that means,” he started using the shield to push back on an assailant. “I think we are going to be a bit busy for a few minutes.” Sword slicing down, hitting double blades and knocking them out of the way. “If you would be so kind as to use that staff. That would be great!”

“What!” her voice getting scratchy from all the screaming she had done that day. “How?” Rolling his brown eyes, he knocked back another cretin, and embedded his sword in its chest. “Ah, you can shoot fire balls out of it?” The corpse made a gurgling noise as he pulled his sword out.

“Fireballs! What the fuck do you think I am, a mage!”

“Yeeeesss…” His face confused, searching around the woman, looking for… something that wasn’t there. Shrugging he swiped his shield across the mugs of three mangy gits. Their faces exploded in a fountain of blood. “Well, just hit them with it,” he yelled over the commotion of the battle.

Tayce looked at the weapon in her hand. “Hit them with it he says,” she snarked. “Nothing too it.” Feeling the weight of the wood in her hand, she shifted her grip so it balanced in between her hands. “Ok, Anastacia Norn, you got this,” she attempted to hype herself up. “Time to smack a bitch.”

The crunch of feet drew her attention to her right side. Without thinking she drew the weapon across her body, pushing out with the end. A crunching smack, and the reverberations of impact alerted her that she had made contact with a piece of filth. His sunken eyes rolled back in his head, his body falling backwards. _Damn, got one_. When the body was clear, another replaced him. This time Tayce was prepared, facing him head on.

Behind her the other man was working his way through the congregated trash. He was close enough to keep the bastards off the woman’s back, but far enough to allow her the space to wield her staff. Decapitating his last foe, he watched the woman take on a particularly gnarly oaf. He was built like a brick out house, and his face was like boiled meat. A swollen nose, probably from multiple breaks, was red and angry. Perched like a smushed plum on the pockmarked face. It was now bloodied, a stream of red falling down onto his stained clothes. The woman had hit him before he had reached her. Nodding his head at her, he figured she had a good hit in her from her stature.

She was certainly taller than most women he had met. As he watched her form, he noticed that while she had a lovely soft bottom and bosom, her shoulders and legs were hard and strong. Her strength on display as she smacked her prey across his back, removing all the air from his lungs as he met the ground.

A strange woman indeed.

When he had done with ogling her, his attention was caught by her hair. It was ratty and bloodied. Snarls had twisted it into a grotesque form. But the few locks that fell around her face was black, running into red at the ends. He had never seen anything like it. In fact, he had never seen anything like her. She was intriguing. And somewhat intoxicating. Chasing the errant thoughts from his mind, he sauntered over to her as she stood over her kill. Looking up from the battered body, a small smile crept across her lips.

_Those lips_ , he thought with a hint of desperation.

_Settle down Alistair_ , he chided himself. _Its not good to get involved with those warrior women, he reasoned. Remember what happened last time?_


	9. Clean

Water sloshed over the jagged edge of the rusty tub. Dirt and grime sticking to the edges of the bath as the woman lifted herself out of the luke warm water.  Wrapping a mangy cloth around her body Tayce stepped her curvy legs out of the tub. "Alistair?" she called.

Jumping up from his perch facing the fire, Alistair walked over to the tub, picked it up and dumped its contents out the window onto the street. Shaking her head, Tayce giggled at the absurdity of her situation.

She was in, what could only be described as a hovel. Built from mud brick, the structure was a squarish box, situated next to other square hovel boxes. The outside had been whitewashed to match the city, and a ring of black steel spikes was embedded in the bricks around the top level. Slashed into the walls were openings, Tayce presumed were windows. They were covered in wooden boards, only opened from the inside. The door mirrored the perfunctory nature of the windows, being a slightly larger opening, with slightly larger wooden planks. Nothing about the hovel, or the small common that it fronted on, indicated to the casual eye that a man of royal Ferelden blood lived there.

“What are you laughing about now?” Alistair sighed in a faked put-upon voice. He was quite taken with the strange woman, and her unveiling story.

“Nothing,’ she piped. “It’s just that I...”

“Can’t believe this is real?” he grinned at her. She nodded her long locks, dripping water onto the old wooden floor planks. “Yes, you said that quite a few times.” He filled the tub with clean water from the indoor water pump, the only luxury item he owned. Throwing a fire rune in it, he watched the water heat, not wanting to be caught ogling Tayce. It didn’t work, she knelt at the edge of the tub, swishing her hand in the warming water. The towel wrapped tight around her body gave Alistair a nice view of her round, plump bottom. Shivering at the view, he quickly turned to the fire once more. “Tell me when you are in,” his voice hitched and caught as he imagined the towel dropping down her body. _Dammit man, get a grip._

A small splash, and a moan told him all he needed to know. _Andraste help me_ , he prayed. Returning to the side of the bath, he positioned himself behind the woman and gently nudged her forward with his hand. She leaned forward, granting him access to her long hair. It had taken the two of them three baths already to get it clean. This would be the last time that Alistair was subject to the torture of her naked body so close to his fully clothed one. Reaching for the jug, he dipped it into the water, leaning dreadfully close to her as he did. One look down and he would have a view to keep him happy for many lonely nights.

Not once did he look.

Pulling the full container back, he gently poured it over her head. The water streaming through her hair, and down her back. Clearing his throat, he noticed the soap was being run over her milky white skin.

“Oh, that is just not fair,” he complained under his breath. She turned her body back slightly to face him, a small smirk dancing across her lips.

“You can leave me to it, if you want,” she shrugged. “Most of the crap is gone now, I can finish it up on my own.”

Alistair didn’t know whether to be grateful or devastated at the reprieve. “As you wish,” he said with a smile, pushing himself up and away from the bathing woman. “I have an errand to run anyway.” He reached the door of the room, and looked back. _What did I do to deserve this?_ Shaking his head, he smirked “I’m going to lock the door behind me. Will you be ok for an hour or so?” All he got as a response was her dripping hand being raised up and waved to tell him to leave. “Well ok then,” and he quietly shut and locked the door behind him.

The click of the door heralded a wave of relief for Tayce. Quickly finishing up her hair, she wrapped herself in a basic peasant dress they had managed to steal from a washing line. As she tidied up from her bath, her thoughts and memories washed over her trembling body.  She did not want to be rude to Alistair, but she really needed some space. The lack of prescription drugs, and the retreating adrenaline surge, was causing her tremors to return. She needed to calm her racing mind, before she had another panic attack.

“Well hasn’t this day been one fuckton of fuckery after another,” she mumbled to the room. Her pile of bloodied and muddied clothes, were picked up and dumped into the cooling bath water.

Remembering what the Thedeans called underwear she swore she was going to save her bra and knickers. “And my Docs’,” she warned to no one in particular. Picking up a tattered sock, she wet it and began to clean her boots.

Taking stock of the events since she was dumped in Kirkwall, she stared into the crackling fire as her hands rubbed over the hard-shiny leather _. Mother called. That’s enough to ruin anyone’s day_ , her thoughts already bitter at the memory. _Then I was pulled into a fucking computer game by ropes_.

“That was fun,” she couldn’t help the roll of her eyes. _Landed in an alley filled with poisonous gas. Watched as people butchered each other because of said gas_. She shuddered at the memory.

“How the fuck do I forget that?” She looked down at her boots, frowning at the offending viscera that had dried on them. Re-wetting the rag, she scrubbed at the boot harder.

_I fell off a scaffold and got knocked out. Met Isabella, Fenris and Varric_. A tight laugh escaped from her mouth, “And that wasn’t scary at all.” She shuffled on her seat, her bottom going numb from the hard surface. _Got caught up in the turf war between mages and templars_.

“Men in skirts against men in dresses,” she snorted, picking at some mud that was trapped in the treads. _Found Lowtown and Darktown_. High fiving the air, “Yay me for figuring shit out.” _Almost raped and murdered_ , her face a visage of disapproval.

Shrugging, “But on the plus side, I met Alistair.” She put one boot down and began on the other.

“So, all in all, a fun filled, warm Kirkwall welcome.”

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and centred herself before continuing.

"I am so fucked."

 


	10. Coincidence

It was nearing dusk when Alistair returned home. Tayce had just finished proofing the small bread loaf, and was tending to the fire. Pulling glowing embers to the side, she placed the heavy cast iron oven snuggly within them. Carefully placing some logs at the back of the fire, she was pleased with her work. Her first meal as a peasant. Looking up at the man, she was taken aback by his gaze. Want, written all over his face made her uneasy. Not because she didn’t fancy him. “Damn fine,” she would mutter every time he bent over to pick something up. Uncertainty however tugged at her heart. _He could be someone I could come to trust. To care for. Maybe even love_. But then again so was... Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she wiped her hands on an errant cloth, she walked out from the small kitchen to greet him.

He had completed several errands, by the look of the numerous string and cloth bags wrapped around his muscular forearms. Alistair offered a few bags for Tayce to take, “These are for you,” he said carefully. Looking up at the man with a curious smile, the woman gave casual thanks, before dumping the contents out on the table. Perplexed as to the nature of the generous amounts of fabric in the bags, she held one piece up and examined it. The huge man blushed an alarming shade of red. “What’s this,” she asked innocently.

The breath he had been holding was now exiting Alistair’s chest, causing him to cough. “Ah, that is, ah, a…” he held his hands out over his pecs, brown eyes pleading with Tayce for respite.

A light bulb went on behind her eyes, “Oh, a breast band?” The man was nodding desperately. A slight smirk toyed at the edges of her mouth, eyes dancing with mischief. “How does it work?” The steps of the agile man faltered, terror raced over his face, followed by a hint of desire. She had done it, she had made the famous Alistair into a stuttering chantry boy. With a victorious laugh, she stuffed the offending garments back into the bags. “I’ll go through them later, thank you Alistair.” She gave the poor man a warm smile.

“Minx,” he growled quietly, earning him another round of laughter. It was fast becoming his favourite sound from her. “I have something else for you,” he said carefully, not allowing his words to be used for innuendo. A nasal snort, followed by a wicked grin told him he was not successful.

“That’s what she said,” a smug grin glowing on her face.

“Maker take me,” he sighed, shaking his head at her.

“That’s what she said,” she managed to get out as she fell into a fit of giggles. Squaring up against her, he started to walk towards her. Using the table as a barrier, she ran around to the other side. Like cat and mouse, the two played around the table. Grabbing and laughing.

“Come here!” Alistair shouted through his deep laugh. A loud shriek, followed by a belly laugh stopped Tayce from evading his last lurch.

“That’s what she said!” War worn hands, strong and nimble, grabbed her around her shoulders, pinning her in place, as they snaked around her body, holding her to his quivering form. The two falling down on the dusty floor, both still laughing.

Alistair stilled first, holding the giggling woman close to his chest. The scent of her clean hair and skin assaulting his senses. He felt her giggles quieten, and her chest fall still. He dared not look her in the eyes, terrified for what he would find there. He needn’t worry. As soon as she came to, she was pulling away from him. “Dinner won’t be too long, unless you have something else apart from the bread?” she inquired. From the floor, he pointed to another bag.

“Sausages,” he smiled broadly up at her. “And some greens.” Tayce looked at him sceptically. “They were hard to find,” he shrugged as if that made perfect sense.

Dusting herself off, she picked up the parcels and prepared their meal. Alistair busied himself with his other packages, setting them aside for another time. When he had finished his task, he returned to the small kitchen, sitting down on a wooden chair. “Tayce,” he began, “Explain to me your story again.” She gave him a warm, but worn smile and relayed her experience getting to Kirkwall again.

It was after dinner when she finally finished answering the exiled prince’s questions. He was still confused over some details, but then so was she. “I suppose we will know in time,” he offered as an explanation.

She shrugged her shoulders, and leaned back in her chair. “I have a question for your Alistair Therin,” one eyebrow raised. He lifted his head at met her gaze. “And that would be my Lady?”

“Why did you save me?”

He blinked at her, looking through her, not really seeing. Why did he save her? She was no different to any other lost damsel, he reasoned. So why her? The more he stared, the more he began to actually see her. Not just her alluring form, but her. Her faults and perfections. Her strengths and weaknesses. Her past and future. His future. He took a chance. It was paying off. Coincidence or fate?

“I can never decide,” she said plainly.

“Wha?” his reverie broken by her low voice.

“Coincidence or fate, I can never decide,” she said matter of factly. Alistair held her gaze, unsure if it was her words or someone else’s.

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” he ventured. “Too many variables, too many chances, too many times for things to go wrong.”

“So, me being here is fate,” she surmised.    

“Yes.”

She tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowed in concentration. “If it is fate, that must mean that there is a reason.”   

Alistair prompted her, “Aren’t you interested in how you got here? If you know how, you will know who sent you here.”

A slight smile played across her eyes, and she shook her head, black and red locks jumping with the movement. “But the why is much more interesting,” she said her voice mysterious. “If I know why I am in this world, then I know my place in this world.”

The moment had passed, and Alistair leant back, sighing heavily. “So, we need to find out why you are here? How do we do that?”

“I don’t know,” she chuckled, and fixed him with a pointed glare. “You didn’t answer my question.”

The man shuffled his feet anxiously under the table. “What question was that my Lady?” feigning ignorance.


	11. Daggers

“Hold it with two hands!” Alistair yelled at the woman. “You won’t get anywhere if you are scared of it,” he smirked. Tayce regripped the quarterstaff, and took a defensive stance.

It had been 16 days, 13 hours, and 29 minutes since she landed in Thedas. And in that time, she had learnt to live like a peasant. She had learnt how to find appropriate food items, haggle with merchants, and how to navigate a crowd without being pickpocketed. In the home she had learnt to clean herself and her home with substandard cleaning products, to create and repair clothing, and she was now becoming the MacGyver of cooking. Give her a few spuds, a hunk of meat, and a paper clip, and she could create a three-course meal from it. The last thing Alistair wanted to teach her, was how to defend herself. The small common, that their flat fronted on, had been commandeered for an impromptu lesson in self-preservation. Several of the inhabitants were cautiously peering out of their mottled windows and from behind rickety doors. None eager to disturb the scary looking mercenary and his jittery charge.

For all her bluster in her first few days in Thedas, Alistair became aware that the woman had many deep-seated fears. On their first night, she had almost wet herself instead of finding the chamber pot. It had taken most of the day, with Tayce yelling at him, flinging insult after insult at him. Most of her insults he did not know. A lot were quite entertaining. He filed ‘cuntwaffle’ away for later use. Eventually she revealed she was afraid of the dark, and didn’t know how to light a candle. Alistair sighed and smile at the woman, vowing internally to always leave a candle lit for her in future.

Picking up his own quarterstaff, he held it in a light grasp. They had been sparing for most of the morning. Her form getting better, and her hits harder. He noted that she was starting to predict his movements, based on the movement of his feet and the weight of the staff. All good signs for her becoming proficient with the weapon, but it would not help in close quarters fighting. He needed to teach her how to use a blade.

Tossing the pole to one side, he retrieved a set of blunted daggers. Twirling them around in his hands, he turned to face her. “Now, these are not my usual weapon of choice,” he smirked holding the blades in front of him for her to see. A malicious glint echoed off the edge of the blade causing the light to refract onto grey walls.

Tayce frowned at the man. Grimacing at the sight of the blades. “What do you expect me to do with those?” her voice icy. Alistair maintained his lazy smile. “Ah, fight with them.” The easy way his answer came ruffled her feathers. She dumped her wood with the man’s and grabbed the weapons from him. “What are you going to be using?”

Alistair chuckled, “Nothing.” The woman looked at him incredulously. “What do you mean nothing?” He shook his head gently at the curt tone she was taking. She must really be smarting from their earlier training. “I mean, you will be learning how to wield these, and I will be guiding you.” She fixed him with a hardened look. “And how will you be doing that?” He noticed that she was starting to quiver. Ever so slightly. _She’s nervous,_ he mused. _I wonder why._

“Take an offensive stance,” he ordered. Tayce shot him with a questioning look, but said nothing, loosing her muscles and keeping her joints slightly bent. The daggers looked alien in her hands, and Alistair could feel the apprehension roll off her in waves. Moving behind her, he reached around to hold her hands within his. “Keep your grip strong, but flexible,” his voice gentle in her ear. She relaxed her grip, and allowed Alistair to control her movements. “Good,” he breathed, his large frame brushing up against her sturdy female form.

Taking her through various positions, he was aiming to get her accustomed to having the blades in her hands. What he was not expecting was having to get himself accustomed to having her in his arms. This woman was making him crazy, and she had no idea.

The clatter of a dagger landing on the dirt ground pulled him back out of his wandering thoughts. “Shit, shit, fucking damnation,” Tayce swore throwing the other dagger to be with its twin on the ground. Tearing herself away from Alistair’s hold, she stomped towards their home. “I’ll never get this right,” she hissed to herself.

Crimson bonds slid over the gritty stones. Weaving, winding their way. Up, up and around, they caught her foot.

Alistair watched curiously as the woman continued her tantrum. Her body was trembling. Grey eyes darting to the shadows, watching intently for an unseen being. When none arrived, she started pacing, muttering to herself. The warrior frowned when he caught snippets of what she was saying. “Can’t do it… will be punished… must do it before she finds out…” She is berating herself, he thought. Who will find out?

A few long strides and he was within grasping reach of the black and red-haired woman. She evaded his hands several times, throwing dirty looks at him, but not quite seeing him. Her muttering was becoming harder, harsher, clearer. “My fault, it always my fault. I’m never good enough, never was, never will be.” Alistair reached at her, grabbing anything his large hands could hold. He managed to catch her shoulder. Twirling her so she faced him, he brought his other hand to her waist, holding her steady.

“What do you mean you are not good enough?” his voice hard. Tayce blinked up at him. For several seconds silence reigned over the commons. “Let go of me,” she all but yelled. Taken aback by the venom in her voice, Alistair still continued to hold her. “No, why do you think you are not good enough?” he attempted again. She ignored his question, instead attempting to wiggle her way out of his grasp. As far as she had come with her combat skills, she was still no match for the professional warrior. “Let me go, you overgrown ape!” Alistair smirked at her, not knowing the insult she had thrown his way. This only served to infuriate her more. “Fuck it, you royal git! Let me go!”

After several minutes, and lots of insults and screeching later, she slumped against his chest. Exhausted from the struggle, or the emotional outburst, Alistair was unsure, either way the woman in his arms was clearly hurting, and he wanted to find out why.

 

Tacye was aware that she was surrounded by warmth. Two warm arms were around her, and she was laying against a very warm, manly chest. Even the sun had decided to grace her with its warmth. An errant beam hitting her cheek, causing it to blush.

She had failed.

_It shouldn’t be so warm_ , her mind concluded. _Why is it warm?_

Her body was still shaking, expecting the cane that came when she failed. Cold air, from the Great Room hitting her exposed skin. The welts that remained red hot and angry in the icy air.

She had failed miserably at the daggers. And now must face her punishment.

But all she felt was warm.

A deep word uttered above her, vibrated through the chest she was held close too. Blinking back tears, she slowly returned to herself. “Tayce,” the kind voice said again.

Looking up at where the words were coming from, she made out his features. Alistair. She was in his arms. He was the warmth around her. “Oh!” she quietly exclaimed. Turning in his embrace, she could see no evidence of her mother or Mrs Whitby. There was no cane, no welts, nothing but him.

“I failed,” she whispered up at him.

Kind eyes and a warm smile, he chuckled, “We all fail on our first go with daggers.”

“You’re not going to…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Going to what Tayce?”

“You know, use the ca…” she buried her head in his chest again, muffling the end of her answer.

_Oh Maker_ , Alistair thought. _She thought she was going to be beaten_. He held her tighter, kissing the top of her forehead. “No love, you are safe here, with me. Failure or not.”

Ricocheting back to the shadows, the red threads left her as fast as they had come.


	12. Drinks

Her leather boots, clomped gently against the cobbled stones of Hightown, drowned out by the firmer, harder steps of her sandy haired companion. Kirkwall had been quiet over the last few weeks. And surprisingly clean, Tacye noticed on her trips with Alistair.

_Hawke and his crew must be off on a quest,_ she mused.

They were off to the Blooming Rose, and Tayce could not contain her excitement. She had never been to a real-life brothel before. Certainly, she had visited the Rose and partook in its many delights within the game. But to do it now. Today. In real life.

“What does it look like inside?” was the first question she asked at the exiled prince. Alistair just laughed, and shook his head. “It looks like a brothel, but cleaner than the ones in Denerim,” he explained. Not happy with that answer, she had continued to pepper him with questions about the establishment.

In an attempt to dissuade her, Alistair had set a brisk pace up the multitude of steps. He figured she couldn’t talk if she was panting up the stairs. About half way Tayce had stopped walking. “Why are we going to the ‘Rose’?”

Alistair rubbed his hand over his face, and turned to face her. “My contact has work for us, and is there,” he explained, making to keep walking. “Oh,” her response was almost comical given the expanse of questions she had about the brothel. “What kind of work?”

He almost pretended that he didn’t hear her. “I’m a merc’,” he explained. “What type of work do you think we are getting.” Confusion ran over her features, “We?”

Alistair hadn’t realised she had stopped and was a good ten paces ahead of her now. “Alistair!” she called after him. “You said we.” He stopped and swivelled on the spot. “Of course, I said we, why do you think I have been training you.” His patience was wearing thin, just wanting to get the job from his contact and begin preparations.

The woman stood still, staring at the former Chantry boy.

“You want me on a job with you?”

Giving her his trademark grin, he strode back to her. “Of course, I do, we work well together.” Stopping on the step just before her, he towered over her tall frame. Taking her face in his hands, he gently ran his thumbs over her cheekbones. “I’m beginning to not want you away from me.”

His admission left her speechless. Closing her eyes as he planted a kiss on her forehead, she only opened them when she heard his cheeky chuckle retreat. He was already a good distance away from her. Taking the steps two at a time, she rushed to catch up.

 

The Blooming Rose loomed in front of her. It was exactly as she expected. Equal parts sleaze and desperation. Tayce refused to put her hand on the door handle, waiting for Alistair to take the lead, pushing the heavy door aside. Even before she entered the stench of stale alcohol and cheap perfume wrapped around her pulling her into the cathouse.

The contact was in one of the backrooms. Alistair had left her in the main room, with a couple of coins for drinks. A cute elf woman has sashayed up to her, and sniggered as Tayce picked her jaw up. She had never seen such a beautiful creature. Large purple eyes, rimmed with black kohl. Her head shaved on the sides, the centre strip of hair was braided with some hair pulled out to create a waterfall of spikes down her scalp. Red stained lips, pouting as she spoke, images of them wrapped around a cock easily brought to the imagination. Her lithe frame wrapped in a one piece. _Almost like a swimsuit_ , Tayce figured. She had never understood why the elves wore so little in the brothel, unlike the other races. The obvious double standard always bothered her.

Squeaking out a request for a cider, the earthling hoped that the other woman would understand. Settling in her seat, she had a good view of the entire main room. The bar had several flies perched on stools, the booths also occupied with patrons and whores alike. Across from her a human sat in the middle of a stained white couch, with two elven women swanning themselves on each side of him. Tayce figured this was pretty normal for a brothel, and gave it no much more thought. Especially when her cider had appeared.

Halfway through the beverage her eyes landed on a black-haired man. _Hmm, black hair, sword on his back…_ she was staring intently at the man. As if on cue he turned towards her. And striking blue eyes. “Yup, that’s Carver,” she whispered to herself. His eyes catching hers. Quickly tearing her gaze from him, she stared at her drink before looking back up at the other patrons.

“Never seen you here before,” a masculine voice inquired of her.

She whipped her head back in front of her, to find the youngest Hawke sitting across from her. His lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

For the second time that night, she had to pick her jaw up. He was stunning. An entirely underrated character, she had always thought, lamenting the lack of smutty fanfiction starring the man.

He brought his drink up to his lips, parting them slightly to allow the amber liquid to slide over them and into his mouth. Tayce watched every move. “Cat got your tongue?” The innuendo in his voice was palpable.

Shaking herself out of the moment, the woman realised why Carver was here. “Ah no, no cat and no tongue,” she carefully said. Held in place with blue eyes, she waited for him to finish appraising her. “Pity,” he finally conceded, “Could make good use of that tongue tonight.”

Getting irritated with his unwelcomed innuendo, Tayce matched his gaze with her own grey eyes. “That I could,” she started. “It is amazing how much I could make for only 15 minutes of work.” He deflated slightly under her scrutiny, but still his bravado got the better of him. “Nothin’ but a mangy whore,” he sneered.

She huffed a smirk at the comment, “I’d probably spend more time getting undressed and dressed again.”

Instantly, the man launched himself towards the snarky woman, only to be stopped halfway there. Pulled back and hurled over his seat, the black-haired man landed heavily on the greasy floor.

Tayce stared mouth open wide.

_Who the hell had done that?_

Fervently scanning the brothel for a hidden mage, she found nothing out of place.

_Shit, shit, shitballs, where’s Alistair?_

Leaving her drink, she made her way up the stairs to the back rooms before anyone blamed it on her.


	13. Contact

The contact was as skittish as a cat near running water. Eyes darting left and right, never landing on one place for too long. Long pale hands never still, always touching, moving, rubbing each other. The man was the epitome of neuroticism. Alistair had dealt with him several times before, and was familiar with the man’s eccentricities. Dressed in black robes, edged with gold embroidery, the contact was out of place wherever he went, and yet, no one seemed to remember the strange man. Even Alistair had trouble remembering what he looked like after a few hours.

“I, ah, wish for you to, ah,” the contact’s speech was as disjointed as his movements. Leaning back in his chair, the sandy haired warrior waited patiently for the contact to finish. Eyes darting back to the door, and then at Alistair. Eyes narrowing at the door, before regarding the mercenary again. “Your companion comes,” the contact said in a rare display of coherence. Alistair swivelled in his chair to face the door, and as he did Tayce barged through the door. 

Wide eyed and uncharacteristically mute, the woman rushed over to where the large man was now standing. “Tacye?” he grabbed her shoulders, holding her still. “Love, what’s wrong?”

The contact chuckled, hollow and not quite kindly. “It seems your ah… companion… ah, will be just what you, ah… need for the, ah… task.” Alistair took a quick glance at the other man before returning the woman to his sight. “Come on, lets get you home. I am finished here anyway,” he said again glancing at the contact. The strange man waved the pair away with a skeletal hand.

Quickly exiting the brothel, Tayce pulled Alistair back down the stairs to their shared home in Lowtown. When they were finally behind the safety of the heavy wooden door, she let out a sigh of relief. Alistair waited patiently, as one can after being dragged from one end of Kirkwall to another, for the woman to explain her actions. He would have been more annoyed if they had lost the contract, but it seemed his contact was not concerned with Tayce butting in.

“Carver… Carver Hawke,” shaking her head in disbelief. “I… he…” Turning to face the warrior, Tayce stared at him. “I saw Carver Hawke, he tried to chat me up.” At this admission, Alistair could feel himself heat up a little, and his hands ball into fists. Maintaining his composure, he continued to wait. “He was a bit of an ass, and when I… Alistair, there was a mage somewhere.” She was now pacing in their sitting area. Stopping to face him again, “The dick was going to attack me ‘cause I said something nasty to him.” That was met with a snort and a quiet chuckle. Sounded exactly like the feisty woman he had come to know. “Alistair! Something held him mid air and flung him over the settee!” She had accentuated her recall with a comical recreation with her hands, and Alistair was having trouble keeping a straight face. “Did anyone see you?”

“No,” she answered slowly, not too sure about the answer.

It was in a brothel, Alistair reasoned. Men go arse up all the time. “Well then, I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Internally though, could it have been her? No, he would have felt the pull of her magic by now if she was a mage. And anyway, she doesn’t even come from this world, so her link to the fade would be non-existent. Shoving his logical reasoning into the recesses of his mind, the sandy haired fighter sat down on a nearby chair. “Tayce, sit.” He gestured with his gauntleted hand. The curvy woman frowned at his movements but sat as requested.

Tayce leaned back against the wooden slats of the carver chair. Wiggling around to find a comfortable spot, she gave up and grabbed a nearby cushion, cramming it behind her.

“My contact has given us a job.”

Startled she looked up at the man. “Us?”

Grinning, Alistair nodded. “He has been wanting to give me a particular task for some time now, but I needed a companion. This is a test to see how well we work together.” Leaning back, he rested his muscular arms along the back of the wooden settee.

Confusion gathered across Tayce’s face, as the warrior continued his explanation. “You want me to be your companion?” she carefully said, not quite sure what Alistair was offering.

His shoulders jumped with mirth as he smirked at her. “Yeeeees?” his trademark drawl accentuated with his boylike grin. “That is why I have been training you, Tayce.” The realisation hit her with the fury of a storm.

“You mean, you have been manipulating me into what you want?”

The sudden arrival of her ire startled the man. “No, never,” his hands were palm up as he accentuated his denial. “I wanted to help you. To survive.” He was confused and didn’t know what to say to placate her.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she let it pass. The storm retreating as fast as it had come. “Ok, so what is the task.” Still not satisfied with being used, but not willing to make an issue of it, not with Alistair. The big teddy bear.

Still watching her cautiously, he recounted the task, detailing her role and his. Every now and then, she would question why, or how, but nothing that would indicate she had an issue with him taking control. Odd, he mused, how she can go from calm to dagger-in-the-throat in an instant. This woman is a mystery. A secret smile danced across his lips. One that I would be more than happy to unravel.


End file.
